


Ray Person's Guide to the Care and Feeding of a Devil Dog

by KahtyaSofia



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Backstory, Multi, One Shot, Pre-Canon, YAGKYAS 2011
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 07:53:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KahtyaSofia/pseuds/KahtyaSofia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of Brad’s devastating break-up, Ray starts to look after him – in a manner befitting Recon Marines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ray Person's Guide to the Care and Feeding of a Devil Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Beautifully beta'd by Whizzy.

Brad was always a quiet, stealthy motherfucker but, tonight he was a little quieter than usual. He was just a little more distanced from the group. He drank, but not enough to get drunk. He answered questions when someone asked one. What Ray really missed was Brad’s expositional rants, with their independent and dependent clauses that ended in an insult to someone’s parentage that was nearly impossible to recover from.

No one else in the platoon seemed to notice, or at least didn’t remark on it. It wasn’t like Ray was Brad’s keeper or anything. He just noticed things. He was a Recon Marine too, for fuck’s sake.

Brad was the first to leave the bar, so Ray didn’t get to interrogate him or anything. He’d have to wait for another opportunity.

~*~

Ray was bored shitless. Everyone in the platoon was at the barbeque. Mike was grilling burgers and Cara and the girls were making sure everyone had drinks.Ray had a mild buzz going, but he was far from drunk sadly, and not motivated enough to change the sit-rep anytime soon. He wished Colbert would hurry up and get here. He was way fucking late – and Brad was never late, for anything … ever – so the fiancé had probably held things up again.

Jacks’ wife was talking now and Ray tried not to roll his eyes at her stupidity. He kinda wished women would slap each other around like guys did cause he’d give his left nut to see Lilley’s wife tell Jacks’ just how big a bitch she was. One look at her smiling into her beer told Ray there wasn’t gonna be any chick-on-chick verbal smackdowns tonight.

There was a commotion behind him and Ray turned, grateful for a fresh distraction. Brad was on the patio, having just stepped out of Mike’s back door. Pappy shook Brad’s hand. Kocher slapped him on the back and asked, “Where’s the woman?”

“She’s not coming today,” Brad replied quietly, not meeting Kocher’s eyes. Ray knew Eric was one of the few people Brad genuinely liked, so it was massively fucking strange that Brad was impatiently extracting himself from the conversation.

Suddenly, Ray knew – he fucking _knew_ – what had been off about Brad. He and the fiancée were splitsville. The love of Brad’s life, his one true love since Jr. High School, had turned out to be the same ole Susie Rottencrotch they all were. Fuck.

Brad accepted a beer from Cara and returned Walt’s quiet but friendly greeting. Despite what most people thought, Ray was capable of silence and stealth. Noise and outrageous opinions were simply weapons in his arsenal, and he utilized them in a campaign of misdirection. Dragging the truth out of Brad would require subtly so Ray made his approach quietly.

“Hey, Brad,” greeted Ray.

“Hey,” Brad replied, hardly sparing Ray a glance before pounding down his beer.

Walt gave Ray a speculative look. Walt was Recon too, and Ray’s abrupt change from his typical behavior didn’t go unnoticed.

“When did you and Jenn break-up?” Ray asked quietly and casually. He took a pull of his own beer and glanced around Mike’s backyard like he didn’t give a fuck about Brad’s answer.

Walt found a blade of grass that seemed to hold the secrets of the motherfucking universe.

“Last month,” Brad answered after an extended silence.

“Shit,” Ray sighed. Yeah, he commiserated with Brad, but it also meant that Brad had gone an entire month without talking about this shit. He hadn’t called the bitch names to his brothers over a bunch of beers and it was probably an open, puss-filled, flesh-eating, festering, draining wound.

“That’s fucked up, Brad,” Walt said.

“What’d the bitch do to make you kick her to the curb?” Ray asked, letting Brad have his pride.

Brad snorted and the right side of his mouth lifted in that fucked up smile of his that meant he was particularly disgusted with someone’s incompetence or stupidity. “She was fuckin’ around with someone else.”

“Christ,” Ray muttered under his breath. Walt shook his head and glanced around the yard.

Ray tried getting Brad to talk, to give up the details of what the bitch-whore had done to him but Brad, being Brad, wouldn’t say shit. He lived up to that ridiculous superhero nickname of his and stood there, drinking his beer. His eyes were cold, his expression was frozen, and he hardly said another word. That fucker had probably _extracted_ information from his interrogators in SERE.

Ray was elbow deep in a trashcan full of ice, water and cold beer when Mike decided it was time to have a heart-to-heart.

“Person, you find out yet what the bug up Colbert’s ass is?” Gunny asked.

Ray held his beer aloft triumphantly. “He and Jenn broke up.”

“No shit?” Mike said in the slow, lazy way he had that made everyone forget he was a dead-eye killer Marine. “He do the dumpin’ or the gettin’ dumped?”

“He says he did the dumpin’,” Ray replied, flicking the beer cap into the nearby recycling. “But he also says it happened a month ago and you don’t keep that kinda shit to yourself when you’re the one did the dumpin’.”

“That’s the motherfuckin’ truth,” Mike said, looking over his shoulder, probably to make sure Brad hadn’t snuck within hearing range when their backs were turned. Sneaky motherfucker. “Take Hasser and get over to his place tomorrow morning. Give him time to get over his hangover, but check and make sure he’s got food in the fridge and his house is clean. You know the drill.”

“He’s not drinkin’ all that much,” said Ray. “At least for a guy tryin’ to drown his broken fucking heart.”

Mike looked at Ray like he was stupid or some shit. Ray was used to it by now. “He may not be drinkin’ in public but that don’t mean he’s not tyin’ one on by himself every night.”

Ray had to admit Mike had a point. “Roger that, Gunny,” he said with a half-assed, less than serious salute.

~*~

Ray only had to pound on Brad’s front door for a couple of minutes before he answered. It was a major disappointment ‘cause Ray was kinda looking forward to busting into Brad’s house to make sure he wasn’t dead on the bathroom floor in a pool of his own vomit.

“What the fuck are you two sorry assholes doing here?” Brad demanded angrily, even as he stepped aside to let Ray and Walt in. The inhuman cocksucker was showered and dressed.

Ray knew what to look for, though. “You invited us for lunch last night,” he said.

“I did not,” Brad replied. His eyes were bloodshot and watery. He’d cleaned up and brushed his teeth but Ray could still smell the alcohol oozing out of his pours. Brad spoke softly and moved carefully. Mike had been right; Iceman had gotten drunk alone when he got home the night before.

Walt quietly went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. When he shut it, he met Ray’s gaze and gave a small nod. So, Brad was buying food which meant he was probably eating.

“You wanna order pizza or you want me to cook something?” Ray asked, knowing Brad would let him ignore the lack of invitation.

The look Brad shot him called bullshit.

“Okay, Walt can cook something,” Ray amended.

They ordered pizza.

When the food was mostly gone they’d all had just enough beer to be slouched down in their chairs, minutes away from drooling on themselves. The football game went to commercial so Ray grabbed the remote and lowered the volume.

“Spill it, Brad,” he demanded, flopping back down in his chair so low his chin met his chest. “Who was the bitch bangin’? Did you walk in on her gettin’ fucked or just find incriminating shit she wasn’t smart enough to make up a good cover story for?”

Sitting across from Ray, Walt was tugging at a loose thread on his jeans, as if not looking at Brad lent a sense of privacy. Pretty fucking smart, when Ray thought about it. If Brad felt ganged-up on, he’d shut right the fuck down.

“She told me everything,” Brad replied, taking a long drink of his beer as if he needed to wash away the taste of his words. “She said the guilt was eating at her, but also she’s in love. It was time to end it.”

Something tightened in Ray’s chest. “How long’s she been fuckin’ around?” Ray asked, not caring if he sounded just as pissed off as he felt.

“She said six months.” Brad let his head fall against the back of the couch. The game was back on but Ray didn’t touch the remote. “But she’d been fighting how she felt about him for a long time.”

A cold rage rolled over Ray. “Who is this cocksucker? You know we could take care of it and they’d never find the body.” He wasn’t really fuckin’ around. Not when it came to Brad, anyway.

“It’s Ryan, Ray,” Brad said angrily, standing abruptly and stalking into the kitchen. “It’s my fucking best friend.”

The anguish in his voice twisted something in Ray’s gut painfully. His eyes snapped up to meet Walt’s. He knew the shock he saw there was mirrored in his own.

“Fuck me,” Walt mouthed silently.

This whole thing was all kinds of fucked up. The situation itself was bad enough, but the fact a Recon Marine of Brad’s skill hadn’t suspected anything involving his fiancée and his best friend for so long was salt in the goddamn wound.

Brad came back with fresh beer for everyone.

“So, your fiancée left you for your best friend,” Ray recapped, “and she came clean before you suspected anything was even goin’ on. It’s them, not you, right? They’re not good enough for you?” Damn-fuckin-right, as far as Ray was concerned.

“No,” Brad said languidly, his eyes slowly falling shut. “I pushed them together by working so much, being a superior asshole and emotionally unattainable.”

Glancing at Walt, Ray saw his eyes were round as saucers.

“Fuck, Brad,” Ray scoffed. “What was the final twist of the knife? Asking you to be the best man at their wedding?” Brad’s silence made Ray’s stomach plummet. His dark expression made it worse. “Oh no, the bitch didn’t?”

Walt stood and began to gather the trash and debris from their afternoon of pretending nothing was seriously fucked up in Brad’s life. Not that Ray was too stupid not to realize that it gave Brad a chance to get himself together and for Ray to formulate his plan of action.

“Dude, you’re better off without them,” he said when the mess was cleared. “Tell them to go fuck themselves and then go out and get laid. A lot.”

Brad shook his head. “We’ve all been friends for too long.”

“Didn’t stop them from fuckin’ around behind your back, did it?” Sometimes Brad’s nobility really pissed Ray the fuck off. I mean, who even believed in that self-sacrificing bullshit these days, anyway? Christ. Overblown sense of superiority aside, Brad was just too nice of a guy.

Walt sat back down in the seat he’d vacated to play hostess. Brad grabbed the remote and started to turn up the volume on the football game they’d all lost track of. Ray snatched it out of his hand.

“One more thing, Brad,” he said, leaning forward in his chair. “You’re a baddass Marine, you’re still in your twenties, women seem to think you’re fuckin’ hot or somethin’, and I’ve seen your dick in the showers – not that I was lookin’ – so I know you’ve got a horse cock. There’s no reason for you to act like your life is over. Go out, live your life and get yourself laid, Brad.”

Ray turned up the volume on the game. Even Walt seemed to think that was the end of it.

~*~

Because he brought Brad home falling-down-drunk so often, Ray knew right where he hid his spare key. It was broad daylight on a Sunday morning and Ray knew Brad was already home in bed, but he dug out the key anyway. Fuck knocking. Brad deserved whatever Ray could dish out.

These days, Brad was the walking wounded and that kind of pain was like catnip to women. They all wanted to fix him and heal him; suck his dick and make it all better. It didn’t matter than they’d met him in a bar when they were both too drunk to stand up. The mornings after, Brad barely remembered fucking them; he certainly wasn’t going to be miraculously healed by their magical pussies.

It fell to Ray to take the trash out and make sure Brad was fed and hydrated after his nights of excessive drinking and anonymous fucking.

He used to start shouting the second he walked into Brad’s house, but he realized it was more entertaining to sneak into the bedroom and pull back the blankets. The outraged cries and flailing limbs always made up for the fact that Ray hadn’t gotten laid the night before.

Brad was facedown in his pillow as usual. Ray could tell he was naked, the sheet rode so low on his hips. Fuck, but Brad was tall. That was a hell of a lot of skin on display.

This morning’s bed partner was burrowed in the bedclothes. Ray could just make out a shock of dark blond hair before he grabbed a handful of fabric and yanked the covers back.

Brad had good taste in chicks, and the looks and charm to get the ones he wanted. Ray always got an eyeful of tits, ass and bush when he did this.

Except this morning. No tits. Nice ass. There was bush. Plenty of bush. But there was also a cock. A cock that _had_ been sporting morning wood.

Instead of squeals of outrage, Ray was treated to an angry shout in a deep, masculine voice. Brad propped himself on his elbows and turned to look at Ray. The motherfucker smiled.

Ray backed up but he didn’t back down. Brad’s one-nighter was spitting mad. Ray realized Brad’s taste in men was as good as his taste in women. This one was handsome, for all he looked about twelve years old. His body was well-muscled and masculine though, so not a kid. Ray didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t help it. The guy was hung and Ray was a little envious, but he’d never admit that out loud.

Brad was out of bed now, sliding into a pair of jeans.

“Sorry, dude, but it’s time for you to be up and out,” Ray said over the shouting, holding his hands palm out in supplication. “There’s no getting coffee, no cooking breakfast together. Brad already can’t remember your name and we’ve got things to do today, so it’s time to get dressed and hit the bricks.”

Brad didn’t argue. It turned out men were easier to get rid of the morning after than women.

Ray might have to remember that someday.

He finally had Brad showered, dressed and on his way to the front door. Ray was fuckin’ hungry and Colbert was especially slow this morning.

“Ray,” Brad said, reaching for the door. He turned back to make sure he had Ray’s attention. “I didn’t tell. You don’t ask.”

“Ask what?” Ray said, pushing past Brad and out the door.

Like he fucking would. Ever.

~*~

Things had been so fucked ever since 9/11. Most guys, Ray included, were still trying to wrap their heads around the fact that they’d joined a peace-time military that was now going to war. Not that Ray was afraid to fight. Fuck no. He wanted to get some. He just wasn’t sure who the fuck the enemy was supposed to be. There was no one leader, no one country that needed its ass kicked. The bad guy had become the bogeyman.

Brad thrived in the newly geared-up military. The fucker was finally getting to do what his _warrior spirit_ had always wanted to do. Then they’d gotten to Australia for forty-eight hours of libo and Brad had just about lost his fucking mind. He’d left the ship almost before they’d been dismissed. Ray had found him in a dive bar, already drunk and starting fights.

Tucking him up nice and safe inside of a fucking whore house had seemed foolproof. Until Brad had disappeared from inside the third brothel while Ray had been in a private room gettin’ some. The _other_ kind of ‘some’.

He’d fled back to base, charged up the gangway of the ship, and thank-fucking-Christ, Gunny Wynn was already back in uniform and waiting for them all to wander back aboard. They had thirty minutes to locate Brad and drag his ass back aboard ship before he was AWOL.

Gunny’s utilities kept the shitstorm from getting any worse when they kicked in doors looking for Brad’s naked Viking ass. It was obvious they were searching for a lost serviceman and nobody hassled Mike. Ray would admit, Wynn was a scary motherfucker when he was on a mission.

“This is the first one you two were in?” Gunny asked as they climbed the front steps of the innocuous looking building. “If he ain’t here Person, it’s just gonna have to be his ass gets busted. We don’t have time to search every goddamn whorehouse in this city!”

“I know, Gunny,” Ray said impatiently, wondering why Brad had waited until they were in Australia to have a full-blown-tween-girl-drama-queen-melt-down. He’d lost track of how many whores Brad had bought in the last 24 hours. Ray had no fucking idea how Colbert still had any money or any come left. He’d half-expected Brad to already be there when Ray’d gotten aboard ship.

Instead, Mike was currently intimidating his third madam of the afternoon.

“You’d know if he was here,” Gunny said. “He’s a tall-ass fucker, taller ‘n most everyone else. Blond, blue eyes, insulting anyone who looks at him funny. Looks like he just jumped off a Viking long ship.”

Ray saw recognition in the madam’s eyes. It was quickly chased by disgust. She led them down a hallway to a closed door and used the key in her hand to unlock it. Mike pushed into the room and Ray stayed right on his six. Sure, he wanted to make sure Brad was okay, but he was also curious to see how the Iceman went about his fucking …

Ray was disappointed to find Brad didn’t take off a stitch of clothing. He’d opened his fly and taken his dick out--and that’s how Mike and Ray found him, pounding into the enthusiastically moaning whore.

“You better have a rubber on that thing, Colbert,” Mike shouted. “Cause you ain’t gettin’ any pity or medical leave if you turn up with a dripping dick.”

The motion of Brad’s hips stopped. He looked up at them and blinked slowly. His face was flushed and his eyes were bright and rheumy. He breathed heavily through red, parted lips. Ray kinda understood why the chicks – and a good number of boys – clung to him the morning after. After you’d been beneath Brad when he was looking like _that_ , it made sense you might wanna get there again.

“The fuck?” Brad asked blearily, slowly pulling out of the whore and fumbling to tuck himself away.

“Christ, Brad, take the fuckin’ rubber off first,” Ray said with disgust, trying to figure out how to help Brad pull himself together without having to actually touch his dick. With Mike standing _right there_ , anyway.

Brad must have paid up front ‘cause the whore was kind enough to help out. She stripped the latex off of Brad’s softening cock and helped him into his clothes. Ray got one shoulder under Brad’s arm. Mike lifted him by the other. Together they dragged Colbert’s uncoordinated body out of the whorehouse and into the hot Australian sun.

“Fuck you,” Brad muttered drunkenly. “I was gettin’ laid.”

“From what I hear, you been gettin’ laid for the last twenty-four hours straight,” Mike snapped, struggling only slightly less than Ray under Brad’s greater size.

Whatever tiny little magical creature looked out for Colbert’s pathetic ass was paying attention ‘cause a taxi pulled over for them the second they hit the curb. Together, Mike and Ray poured Brad into the backseat and climbed in with him and – in Ray’s case – partially on top of him.

“I thought you said he was gettin’ past his shit,” Mike said angrily when they were RTB.

“I thought he was, Gunny,” Ray said defensively. “He stopped bringin’ strange chicks home every weekend. He’d cut back on his drinkin’, too.”

“I got no problem with the whorin’, but this is Iceman. He don’t let gettin’ his dick wet get in the way of his bein’ a Marine.” Mike glanced at his watch. “This ain’t right, Person. No way Colbert should be passed out in the back of a taxi with ten minutes left before he’s AWOL.”

Ray ran a hand over his hair. Mike was right and didn’t need Ray to agree with him. “Maybe the lack of booze and pussy in Afghanistan’ll make him go cold turkey.”

“He ever talk about it?”

“Fuck yeah, he talks about it, Gunny,” Ray nearly shouted. “Every goddamn time he goes to a fuckin’ barbeque at their fuckin’ house.”

Mike made a disgusted sound. Anything he might have said was lost when they reached the base and had to haul Brad’s oversized ass out of the cab. Once he was officially checked in aboard, Brad finally started to sober up. Ray and Mike dumped him into his rack and left him to sleep it off.

Okay, Ray might have taken off Brad’s shoes and tossed a blanket over him.

“I’ll find a time to have a little chit-chat with our Iceman,” Mike said. “Let him know if he don’t get his shit squared away when we get home, he’s outta Recon ‘til he does.”

“Roger that,” Ray replied, afraid it was actually going to come down to that.

~*~

When Ray walked into Brad’s bedroom, the previous night’s conquest was already in the bathroom. Brad was face down in his pillow and snoring lightly. Ray climbed onto the bed and started pushing both feet against Brad’s ribs. “Time to wake the fuck up, Colbert.”

The chick came out of the bathroom and didn’t seem surprised to see Ray sitting on the bed, trying to kick Brad out of it.

“He settle up with you, sweetheart? Or do I gotta find his wallet?” Ray had started using that line way back before they’d shipped out to Afghanistan. He liked the self-righteous indignation the bitches showed, even though they’d spent the night on their backs with their legs spread for the Iceman. He probably hadn’t even had to buy any of them drinks. Fucking bastard.

“We settled up last night,” the chick replied, face and voice both calm. She immediately started gathering up her clothes and getting dressed. “He warned me there might not be time this morning ‘cause some little perv was going to play alarm clock.”

Ray’s jaw dropped and he was glad the whore was looking away. Fuckin’ Brad. He’d probably staged this whole thing just to fuck with Ray.

“Go away, Person,” Brad said from the depths of his pillow.

The whore chuckled and walked around the bed until she could lean over and kiss the back of Brad’s head. “Take care, big boy,” she said teasingly. “You got my number if you want another date sometime.” Flipping Ray the middle finger, she left.

“I don’t want breakfast, Ray,” Brad said.

“Tough shit.” Ray leaned over Brad’s body and sniffed at him. Hardly any b.o. and no alcohol at all. “You’re not hung-over, you cocksucker,” he accused. “Now get the fuck out of bed so we can go eat.”

~*~

Ray pushed his plate away. Across from him, Brad bit into a tortilla bursting with chorizo and eggs. He ate with a gusto Ray hadn’t seen him exhibit in the morning in … well … years.

“If you keep fucking whores, you’re never gonna find someone to settle down with,” Ray said, knowing Brad appreciated it when he got right to the point.

“That’s the idea,” Brad said around a mouth full of food.

“I see your mouth moving but your eyes say you’re lying,” Ray cantillated. “And why spend the money on whores? You got enough game to score all the free pussy you want.”

“For the same reason you started breaking into my house on Sunday mornings.” Brad took a long drink of his coffee. “I don’t pay the whores for the sex, I pay them to leave in the morning without kicking up a fuss or trying to live happily ever after.”

“Fine,” Ray sighed. “It’s been years, though, Brad. It’s time to find one you want to stick around in the morning.”

“Sticking around through the morning isn’t the issue,” Brad said, evading Ray’s eyes. “It’s getting them to stick around through an entire deployment, or through the first weekend I have to stand duty.”

“She was one bitch, Brad.” Ray didn’t bother to hide his annoyance with Brad’s little pity party. “You’re acting like everyone you’ve ever known has abandoned you at some point.”

“My birth mother abandoned me when I was three days old, Ray. There _is_ an identifiable pattern.”

Ray’s mouth hung open. How in the fuck had he missed that fact? He’d known Brad how many years now? What the fucking fuck?

“Yeah, well, the people who adopted you have stuck around,” Ray said tentatively. “And I’m not giving up on your ass, so …”

He couldn’t think of anything else to say. He wasn’t so sure anymore that this was just a phase Brad would eventually move past.

~*~

Ray opened the door to Brad’s house and stopped short. Walt slammed into his back.

“What the fuck, Ray?” he demanded.

Brad stood in the middle of the room; showered, dressed, coffee mug in hand. He was watching Ray and Walt, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. He was alert and clear eyed. It had been years since Ray had seen Brad look this put together on a Sunday morning.

“You’re awake,” Ray said. When had he become Captain-fucking-Obvious? “And not hung-over. Is there a booze shortage I haven’t heard about?”

Behind him, Walt snorted a laugh as he closed the front door.

Ray had his doubts about Brad’s newfound sobriety. He headed for the bedroom.

“Stay the fuck out of there, Ray,” Brad said in a low voice. It was the voice that managed to send a chill down Ray’s spine. Not that he’d admit that. Brad’s ego was already as big as his dick. “We’re going to breakfast. You and Hasser are welcome to join us, as long as you keep your questions and snide comments to yourself.”

“Wait … you’re bringing your one-night-fuck along on our Sunday breakfast?” This shit was just not on.

“Ray,” Brad snapped at the same time Walt smacked Ray in the back of the head.

That was the moment Brad’s overnight guest came out of the bedroom, showered and dressed. Ray could only glance helplessly at Walt when the guy crossed to Brad and kissed him softly on the lips. Apparently, Brad liked ‘em butch but pretty. This one was almost as tall as Brad was, and he had muscles busting out all through his tee shirt.

“Does Walt know the rule?” Brad asked Ray.

Turning to push Walt toward the front door, knowing Brad and his _date_ would follow, Ray said, “Hey, Walt; Brad didn’t tell and we don’t ask.”

Walt didn’t miss a beat. “Ask what?”

~*~

“Team Leader of the Year!” Someone shouted.

“Ooh-rah,” the large group answered.

Brad rolled his eyes. “Knock that shit off.”

“Can’t do it. The look on your face when we say it is priceless,” Mike said with a laugh.

Ray knew Brad was honored by the recognition, but he hated the attention. He’d have been perfectly happy to be privately notified that the Corps had recognized his level of competence while serving in Afghanistan, and never have it made public.

Brad motioned the waitress over and ordered another round. While all the other Marines at the table gaped openly at the ample cleavage on display when she leaned over Brad, Colbert himself was oblivious. Ray snorted and shook his head, wondering what the fuck he was going to find going on in Brad’s bedroom tomorrow morning if Brad was oblivious to a woman’s _charms_ tonight.

As he finished giving the waitress the final details of their order, Brad leaned in toward her and smiled. Not the mocking-smile-of-hatred-and-contempt he used on everyone else; no, Brad laid on her the full-on crinkly-eyed smile that showed that ridiculously dorky overbite that few people even realized he had.

The waitress blushed and stammered. She fucking blushed!

So, not oblivious then. Brad was aware of the waitress and her attempts to get his attention in _that_ way. He just wasn’t interested. Brad was actually acting like a fucking human being and letting the woman down gently. That motherfucker could be charming when he wanted to be. Fuck.

“Any word on our new Platoon Commander, Gunny?” Pappy asked.

The group grew quiet to hear Mike’s answer. “Yeah, it’s a kid Captain Whitmer is bringing over with him. Lt. Nate Fick.”

“That name sounds familiar,” Poke said, eyes narrowed as he tried to place where he’d heard the name before. “Why do I know that name?”

“I knew a Lt. Fick at Camp Rhino in Afghanistan,” Rudy supplied.

“That’s it,” Poke exclaimed, “Right, Camp Rhino.”

“Scuttlebutt says good things,” Mike said. “What do you guys know?”

“His men seemed to respect him,” Rudy answered. “When his platoon was screwed out of a ride to RTB and had to hoof it out, he didn’t climb in the truck with the officers and leave things in the hands of his NCOs.”

“I heard about that,” Poke added. “He hiked out in full pack right along with them.”

“You’re awful quiet on the subject, Sgt.-Team-Leader-Of-The-Year-Colbert,” Mike called across the table.

Brad made them all wait while he took a drink of his beer. “If he was recruited into Recon by Whitmer, that means he hasn’t been sitting on some waiting list just waiting to compensate for his tiny-dick-inferiority complex. He may avoid getting any of us killed.”

“You still think we’re going to Iraq, don’t you?” Pappy asked.

“The case for WMDs has been made to the UN and President Bush is taking a firm stance against Saddam Hussein.” The waitress returned with their orders and Brad got another blush out of her with his goofy smile. When she was gone, he continued, “I think we’re going in within the year, yes.”

“Fuck Saddam,” someone said. The crowd agreed.

Brad finally met Ray’s eyes across the table. Ray realized Brad was relaxed, slouched in his chair and seemingly enjoying the company of his fellow Marines. His eyes looked calm; they didn’t dart around like Brad was a caged animal searching for an escape.

Lifting his beer, Ray gave Brad a subtle salute. If they were going to war in Iraq, it was good to know the Iceman was back.


End file.
